


to valhalla

by thorkidumpster



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-02-01 14:55:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 8,171
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12707238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorkidumpster/pseuds/thorkidumpster
Summary: a collection of my one-shots from tumblr, posted here for easier access. individual warnings per chapter. ratings may change per chapter.





	1. treasure

**Author's Note:**

> chapter one -- treasure
> 
> explicit. no major warnings. does contain somnophilia without previous explicit consent.

* * *

 

This is a rare treat.

It is not often that Loki is allowed the luxury of waking up next to his brother—their relationship is shadows and quick fucks in empty halls. They are the longing looks over dinner and the restrained politeness when others are around. Secrecy. Lies.

And Loki had enjoyed the thrill at first; lusting for the forbidden, the guilty pleasure of two brothers that shared a womb, a breast, and a bed. But he does, now and again, envy the simplicity that other lovers share. The small intimacies.

Like this—feeling the warmth of their love, hearing their deep, restful breaths, basking in the tender glow of new morning.

They are hidden, tucked away in the wilderness of Midgard. With nothing in the realm that poses a threat, the brothers had forsaken their tent to fuck under the light of strange stars.

Loki keeps his eyes closed, etching to memory the sound of his brother’s chuffing snores and the wash of the nearby river. Birds have begun their salutations and the brush rustles with all matter of waking critters. Loki rests his hand on Thor’s naked stomach; muscles shift with each breath, and his gut gurgles with hunger that has not grown enough to wake him.

He inhales, and  _feels_.

His fingers brush through the smattering of fur on Thor’s abdomen, stroking, petting Thor’s belly as though he were a dog. More from habit than anything else, Loki’s hand drifts lower—birds be damned, his brother has a far better salutation to the dawn.

Loki nuzzles closer to his brother, burying his face against Thor’s chest and opening his mouth to better  _taste_  his brother’s scent. His fist closes around Thor’s cock. The stroking is lazy, more exploratory, as Loki glides the satiny foreskin over Thor’s glans. It is a cock he knows almost as well as his own, at yet he marvels at how such a hard thing can be covered in such soft skin. Beneath him, Thor shifts, his hips raising with the slow motion.

Loki opens his eyes, if only to take in the sight of this. Another stolen memory to hoard like gold.

And gold is an apt word, for that’s what Loki sees—the gold of his brother’s skin, cast in warm pink light. He lifts his head.

How is Thor so beautiful? How is it that he took all the sun had to offer and outshines it?

But even in his sleep, Thor is impatient. There is a rut forming between his brows; the pumping of his hips grows more insistent.

“Patience is a virtue,” he scolds, even as he lowers his mouth to Thor’s rosy nipple and catches it between his lips. With far more care than he usually employs during their trysts, Loki sucks at the bud until it is as hard as Thor’s cock, then he laves his tongue over. When the nipple is hot and slick with spit, Loki blows a cool stream of air onto it.

The effect is enjoyable—Thor’s chest shudders and he groans, deep, unrestrained. A lovely sound.

Loki wants to hear more like it.

He tends to Thor’s tit, sucking and licking, sucking and licking, until he’s certain his brother will awake from it.

But Thor does not—he spills, though, with a loud moan and Loki mourns that his play has been cut short.

With a few shaky gasps, Thor goes still and limp once more, his breath evening back to the steady draw of sleep.

Perhaps not, then.

Loki sits up and drinks in the sight of his brother, naked and unashamed. He wants to remember this always, because he knows it will be a rare experience; one he might only be allowed a few more times in their life.

 

* * *

 


	2. star candy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warnings for possible underage (Loki’s 17) and age difference.

* * *

 

The boy has a lollipop shaped like a star.

He licks at it, eyes sparkling and solid on Thor’s. Then his pink little tongue darts out for another taste, dragging over the hard, pastel colored candy. “Soooo,” he drawls, tapping the sucker against his lips. “Here to see my dad?”

Thor swallows and digs deep for that self-control his own father would swear he was incapable of. The reception area he’s waiting in is huge and utterly empty except for him and the boy that seems to fill it completely. “Yeah. I’m his four-o'clock appointment.”

The boy shrugs. He’s got on teensy shorts, denim, with threads hanging from the torn edges; his converse clad feet clack together as he jiggles his feet. This is a professional business office, with rules and expectations and dress codes—except, apparently, for the CEO’s teenage son. “Boringggg,” the boy says.

 _Loki_ , Thor remembers with a jolt—Loki, who turned sixteen last year and crashed his first car on purpose because it wasn’t the model he wanted. The fit Laufey had thrown over that had reached even the dark, windowless bowels of the office were Thor worked.

Loki’s eyes trail over Thor’s arms, his freshly trimmed hair, the respectable almost-beard scruff on his cheeks. He licks his candy again and smirks, then lifts one long, slim leg to rest it up at an angle on the empty reception desk he’s perched his little ass on. The shift exposes so much thigh it’s a miracle the boy’s balls aren’t out.

Though there is an evident bulge of something Thor wouldn’t mind getting his mouth on. There’s no way Loki could be wearing underwear, no goddamn way, and those shorts are _nothing_ —

“Are you hoping for a promotion?” Loki asks. He’s slurping around the sucker, and for a moment, Thor can imagine that slut slurping around the tip of his cock.

_Self-control, Odson, come the fuck on!_

“No,” Thor says, unreasonably proud of the steadiness of his voice. “I’m not really sure why your father wants to see me.”

Loki smiles, and it’s a sharp, mean thing that’s incongruous with his pretty face. “Maybe he wants to fire you.”

Dread lurches in Thor, but he shakes his head. “My manager could do that without the head of the company getting his hands dirty.”

Loki gives him a pout, seemingly put out that Thor didn’t fall for his game. “Okayyy. Well, maybe it’s because you’re fucking his son.”

“ _Loki_ ,” Thor hisses. “Jesus Christ, you can’t just say shit like that.”

“Of course I can,” Loki says, expression now coquettish. “I can say anything and Dad’ll believe me.” The brat slides his leg off the table, then hops off completely; his head is cocked and the sleeves of his tank top are torn so wide Thor can see his pink, puffy nipples.

Mother of god.

Loki’s black hair is tucked behind his ears, but a strand falls out in front of his face. The white stick of the lollipop, firmly between his thin lips, bobs up and down as he pushes it into his cheek.

There’s a strange moment where Thor thinks he should run.

But he stays as still as stone in his seat as Loki steps towards him, hips shifting enticingly and god, what would the feel like under his hands—

“Though it might be a little unfair to accuse you of something that you didn’t even get to enjoy first…”

With a snarl, Thor stands up, his height towering over Loki. But instead of fear, Loki’s cheeks color a delightful rose and there’s the unmistakable look of  _want_  on his face. “And you care about fairness?” Thor snaps.

“No,” Loki says, more a breath than a word. “I really fucking don’t.” He’s so close now that Thor could kiss him, if he didn’t want to choke the kid first.

Then the wide doors of Laufey’s office open and out steps his PA, presentable and put together. “Mister Od—” The man stops, eyebrow raised at their compromising position.

Thor jerks back, but Loki grabs him by the hand first. “Good luck,” he simpers, fluttering his lashes in an overly-exaggerated manner.

“Thanks.” Thor snatches away his arm. “Yes, I’m ready.”

Before those massive doors close behind him, Thor hears the unmistakable sound of Loki blowing a kiss.

 

* * *

 


	3. puzzle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings.

* * *

 

Loki’s lips feel sweet against his own.

The dusty, humid corner they’d found themselves in—less so. But this is the last night that he might have Loki; the last night that a discovered tryst between the two would garner only outrage instead of war.

“Thor,” Loki breathes. His chilly hands start their path at the base of Thor’s neck, but wind up into his hair, black nails scratching.  _“Thor.”_

Thor pushes them harder, pressing Loki into the stone. His heart is greedy for more of Loki—his smiles, the sunlight caught in his nightfallen hair, red eyes tired from straining over books. And now, he drinks this kiss because he knows he will never be given another.

They fit, Thor thinks, like two connecting puzzle pieces; Loki stands matches Thor for height, and is only marginally less wide. Long has Thor suspected that Loki weaves some illusion over the eyes of others, to make them see a slender thing, with wide hips and a dainty face. But he bares all for Thor—the broadness of his shoulders, the power in the muscles shifting under blue skin.

A storm of ice and wind that Thor could never hope to control.

“We need to stop,” Loki says. He’s caught between Thor and the wall and there’s hardly enough room to pull his head far enough away to speak. The words form against Thor’s mouth like they were his own.

“Aye,” Thor agrees. For tomorrow Loki of Jotunheim marries Baldur, eldest son of Odin, and Prince Regent to the throne. Tomorrow at dawn, Thor must watch the man he loves marry his brother, and he must smile. “But do you  _want_  to?”

Loki’s fervent kiss is answer enough.

 

* * *

 


	4. breathtaking

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings.

* * *

 

Loki is shaking.

It’s a tremble that runs through his whole body, from his overexcited heart to the curling toes in leather shoes. He feels like a teenager again, even as an alarming amount of grey has started to thread through his hair.

“Loki,” Thor murmurs, nuzzling their noses together. “How do you do that?”

Loki gives an airy laugh and cards a hand through Thor’s hair. The sunset turns his hair golden again, but Loki treasures every line around Thor’s lips; proof of all the smiles they’ve shared over the course of their lives together.

“How do I do what?” Loki says, teasing. A cricket starts up a lonely song, but soon enough a whole chorus rises around it. There’s a special kind of silence, out here in the country where they moved after their youngest went off to college. A silence of all the creaks and ribbits and shrill insects of nature. Far more appealing that squabbling neighbors, mowers at 6am, and car alarms.

Thor touches Loki’s cheek. “How do you make every kiss feel like the first?”

“I certainly hope I don’t,” Loki says, as though warmth isn’t suffusing through him, as though he doesn’t feel the exact same way. “I seem to recall braces, sweaty palms, and too much tongue.”

“All from you, of course,” Thor teases. At Loki’s offended scoff, he kisses him again, in that thrilling and familiar way.

The sun dips below the horizon, throwing a lightshow of orange and purple over the clouds. Loki exhales slowly through his nose. “Maybe we should go back inside, old man, and I’ll give you something from me.”

Thor’s eyes sparkle. “Lead the way,” he says, but not before stealing one last breathtaking kiss.

 

* * *

 


	5. brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings.

* * *

 

The guards bear down on them, faces twisted and spearheads poking.

Not for the first time in their very long lives, Thor wants to strangle his brother.  _“Loki.”_

Tied back to back, Thor feels Loki wiggle in frustration. Fingers pull at the metal binding their hands together, but the struggle is futile—it will not bend or break, and all Loki succeeds in doing is making their join hands disgustingly sweaty.

“In my defense,” Loki grumbles, “I thought this would go a lot more smoothly.”

“ _It’ll be simple_ ,” Thor mocks Loki’s earlier words, making them high pitched and slick.  _“We’ll just the beast as a distraction!”_

Of course, once Loki had gotten an idea in his head, he rarely listened to differing opinions—such as Thor’s insistence that Hulk didn’t follow orders particularly well, especially not when delivered by someone he’d once remodeled a floor with.

There had been one, bright moment, though where the plan seemed to be working—Hulk was smashing, people were screaming, and Loki’s hair whipped about his face as they made a mad dash for freedom.

So what happened?

Well, Hulk didn’t appreciate Loki running, apparently, as the second freedom beckoned them, Hulk roared and leapt—

Loki grunts, still jamming his fingers into the restraints. “You didn’t exactly seem to have any plans.”

“I was going to fight,” Thor points out.

“Fight your way out of a mob of hundreds of guards, past the Hulk, and through any stupidly noble idiot to stand in your way?”

“I’ve done it before.”

Loki’s snippy silence says a thousand words.

Unable to keep himself from prodding further, because that’s just what they  _do,_  Thor says, “I would have gotten us from here.”

Loki radiates with the effort of ignoring his brother.

Pleased, Thor flexes his wrists. Loki’s poking has done nothing, but the sweat… “Also, you look terrible in yellow.”

 _That_  finally breaks his brother. “I’m doing to stab you when we get out of this.”

“Doesn’t change the fact you look awful in yellow.”

 

* * *

 


	6. blessings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings.

* * *

 

“You come here with the moon—”

The room is gauzy, dark, lit only by the dim radiance of orbs bobbing gently around the chamber, swept in some unseen current. The priest should be impossible to see, but his skin glows—his eyes, sparks of green in the sea of black.

Thor licks his lips. “I come for your blessing.”

A low chuckle rumbles. Loki’s laughter is both cruel and teasing. “Nightly,” he says. He catches a finger on one of the thin, transparent lengths of fabric that hang from the ceiling, with seemingly no other purpose than to befuddle Thor. But his own bedroom is bare, spartan.

“I am but a man,” Thor replies. “I err daily.”

Loki tips his head in acknowledgment. He is a priest of the old gods, whose masters demand tributes of potent liquids—wine, blood, semen—and Thor has spilled much of all three in his service as King. The gods must be truly pleased with him, or their servant would not bend so easily under his body.

With a graceful sweep of his arm, Loki brushes away the fabric. His eyes are like stars in the night sky of this chamber, too bright to be anything but the design of the gods. Slowly, Loki makes his way to Thor, and Thor’s muscles leap with the effort to keep still. This is part of the ritual—he must not touch Loki until Loki deigns to grant him blessing.

But Loki is so beautiful. Bare from the hips up, his chest is strong, and his shoulders broad, yet the thin sheaf of green silk around his waist lends Loki an almost feminine softness. This touch of sensuality is intoxicating.

Loki stops a hairbreadth away. Thor’s regulated breathing turns harsh, ragged, because he wants more than anything—more than his throne, more than the warstorm in his blood, more than life itself—to grab Loki and the priest clearly knows this: his lips bend into a harsh smirk.

 _Patience,_  Thor wills. Patience, like in a sword fight, waiting for the opponent to blunder.

 _Patience,_  he pleads, as Loki tilts his face upwards, their lips so close Thor can feel Loki’s breath, smell the mint from the leaves he chews after dinner.

 _Patience,_  he begs, resolve cracking, because Loki’s not moving, refusing to move, just holding himself still so the heat of his body radiates onto Thor’s skin. A touch, in all ways but the one Thor must have.

“How long could I make you wait like this?” Loki whispers, delighted. “Dear, sweet brother…”

Because even though Loki is arguably the most powerful man in the kingdom—in any region that worships the olden ways—he is, and always will be, bitter that he was forced into studying the gods while Thor was slated for the throne.

“Until the stars burn from the sky,” Thor replies, because no other answer would ever satisfy Loki.

Victory tastes like mint, as Loki molds his mouth to his brother’s, finally granting Thor permission to have his blessing, to spill his seed in the living body of the gods, to offer his eternal worship to this divine avatar.

And he offers, as he does every night, silent gratitude for the gods allowing him to know his own brother in such a sinful way.

But to be a man is to sin, thus Thor will have to seek his brother out tomorrow night, and the next, and the next…

 

* * *

 


	7. marriage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explicit. no major warnings.

* * *

 

“Marry me,” Thor whispers against Loki velvet, open lips. “Marry me, Loki, marry me–”

Loki chuckles, the sound trailing into a groan as Thor presses hard. They are a tangle of sweat and limbs—Loki’s ankles locked firmly around Thor’s hips, his nails digging into the shifting muscles of Thor’s back. A position of intimacy, of love, not often used by Loki, but Thor insisted and, in fairness, Loki is as impressionable as new fallen snow before Thor.

No one else but Thor.

The stone table under Loki scratches; he’ll have marks from this, cuts in his skin to overlay the pattern of scars that circles his body. “Our fathers would murder us,” Loki says.

“Then we’ll run away. Go live on Midgard and hide from the realms.”

Orgasm builds like an icy storm in Loki’s belly. “You’re a fool,” he gasps, because other words nearly tumble out—other words like Thor knows, but mustn’t hear lest his head swell to the size of a boulder.

“Yes,” Thor says, wrapping a hand around Loki’s weeping cock. He pumps erratically, driving Loki nearly to the point of kicking him off or stabbing him with an icicle. “Answer me.”

Loki makes to bat Thor’s hand away when Thor releases just the smallest jolt of his own storm—a single spark that arcs through Loki’s every nerve and has him biting into the thick meat of Thor’s shoulder to muffle a scream.

Blood leaks sluggishly onto his tongue, and Loki hums at the taste, then laughs, because his life has always been built on irony. Irony that Thor begs for marriage, and Loki accidentally accepts while locked in a lover’s pose.

“Loki?” Thor has stilled, his seed spilled and his cock going soft. “Why do you laugh?”

“You want to marry me,” Loki says. He bares his bloody teeth. “And now we are wed in the Jotun manner.”

Thor kisses the red from his lips. “Now what do we do, then, husband?”

“Flee, probably, before my father finds out and turns you into a handsome ice statue.”

 

* * *

 


	8. empty cicada shells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings.

* * *

 

Thor loves this part of summer.

The lazy afternoons, warmed with hazy, golden sunlight and filled with the buzzing of cicadas—the stolen hours with Loki, where time stretches like pulled taffy, sticky and sweet, until weeks lasted months, and months lasted years.

They lay on Loki’s unmade bed, the window still open from where Thor had snuck in. There is just enough breeze to cool the sweat on their skin. Around them, boxes packed with memories, their contents labeled neatly in black marker.

This is their last summer together.

“I don’t want you to go,” Thor whispers. Loki shifts, rolls his head over to watch him. They are like two opposing forces, each thrown across the short end of the bed, their heads the only point of contact.

Loki sighs, and his breath tickles. “I know,” he says. “But I have to.”

Thor understands, though he doesn’t want to. Loki has always been too big for this small town, too wild and unpredictable for their neighbor’s easy smiles and endless barbecues. He is a stranger here, something undefinable setting him apart from the mundane, endless drawl of suburbia.

He’s seen the promise of a better future in the distant lands across the ocean—schools in London, in Berlin, in Paris, in Madrid; Loki applied himself all over the world, to the great big metropolitan cities where he can maybe, hopefully, finally find a place for himself.

And Thor, left behind in their little town in the middle of the south. He nuzzles at Loki’s chin, then kisses the sweet mouth that’s offered to him. Loki tastes like him—they’ve been kissing the better part of the evening, humming softly to themselves, enjoying their last bit of time together.

Laying like this, Thor can see the steady pulse beat in Loki’s pale neck—he wonders if he’s kissed that particular patch of skin. Surely he has, in all the fumbling and thorough worship he’s offered to Loki since that first, shy kiss at fourteen.

“What time does your flight leave?”

Loki blows a strand of hair from his face, and Thor savors the feeling of Loki’s breath on his skin. “4:53pm, tomorrow. I’ll be going to the airport around noon.”

“I want to come.”

Loki shifts; he nuzzles the growth of hair under Thor’s chin—little wisps that Thor hopes will eventually mature into a full beard. “I want you to come, too, but my dad…”

The front door slams on cue and Thor jerks up. He walked here, and there’s nothing outside to suggest that anyone was in the house but Loki. Laufey calls out to his son, and Loki, smooth as a cat, lifts himself off the bed and responds in easy tones. Thor, for his part, hates how afraid he is. They aren’t children anymore, but if Laufey were to catch him…

“How’s packing coming?” Laufey says through the door, and thank god Loki always has it locked; his father doesn’t even bother with jiggling the doorknob.

“I’m done,” Loki replies, calm. His eyes track Thor’s, then nudge over to the window. A hint.

“Okay. Get dressed, we’re going to have a dinner with your aunt at that steakhouse downtown; everyone’s going to be there. Farbauti, your half-sister, your aunt, Thrym…”

Everyone but Thor, who ruined any chance to be a part of their family when two years ago Laufey caught him and Loki tangled up, gasping and sweating and thrusting. He had since been banned from any contact with Loki but oh, were parents fools when it came to love. There had always been school–the long green expanse of a football field and the quiet shadows under empty bleachers where Thor would sit with Loki, trying to somehow prove to that mercurial boy that he was different that the others around them. Trying to impress him. Trying to tease one of those quirked half-smiles from his lips.

Because from the first time Thor laid eyes on Loki, four years ago at their high school’s freshman orientation, he knew that he was lost to him, as surely as a boat to the sea.

With a sigh, Thor heaves himself through the open window, careful to avoid trampling the bush down below. For a moment, they stand, staring at each other through the opening, then Loki reaches out. He cups Thor’s face and kisses him, firmly, nothing like their hasty peck of a first kiss and Thor tastes sadness on his lips.

“Don’t forget me,” Loki whispers.

“How could I?” Thor says. To forget Loki would be tantamount to forgetting the warmth of the sun, or the flutter of happiness in his stomach, or the feeling of splashing into a cool lake on a summer day.

Loki just smiles a smile that’s not really one, because his brows are too bunched and his eyes, too shiny. “I’ll be back.”

Though Thor wants to keep that hope alive, he knows that Loki is lying.

 

* * *

 


	9. haze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> explicit. choking kink. no major warnings.

* * *

 

“Loki, are you sure that…”

“I’ll be fine,” Loki gasps—he arches his back, chest out and neck long and lean. Exposed. Begging. “Please, please, please—”

Thor’s been working him the better part of an hour, hoping that the tattoo would be enough. The temporary ink itches like mad, but Loki’s reaction to it had been… something else. The wide-eyes stare, the open mouth—and, if that hadn’t been enough of a sign, the way he dropped to his knees and went right for Thor’s dick.

Now Thor’s got him laid out in bed, covered in bites from his pink, perky nipples to the cradle of his shaking thighs. Cum is splattered all over his pubis and stomach, and his cock is limp, red as a firetruck, but still weakly trying to get erect.

Loki’s so fucked out Thor might die from it.

“Thor,” Loki whines. “Just like the videos we watched. It’s safe.”

“Promise me you’ll tap out if you need to,” Thor says. He's—he’s a big guy, a strong one. The thought of crushing Loki’s larynx… But he inhales. That’s not where he’s putting the pressure. Not the windpipe, but the arteries. Not hard, he says to himself. Not hard.

Loki smiles—it’s a luxurious, slow thing as he rolls his body under Thor. “I promise,” he says, voice all whispery already and Thor gulps.

He places his hand on Loki’s warm sternum. He can feel the thump of Loki’s heart, every rise and fall of his breath. Careful, Thor drifts his hand upwards and Loki’s torso lifts with the movement, guiding him, guiding him— _here_ , Loki’s soft and pale skin sighs, over the hard bump of his collarbone to the fluttering pulse at the base of his neck.

Thor exhales. His thumb strokes the underside of Loki’s jaw. Every muscle in Loki’s body has gone beautifully, achingly tense. He’s watching Thor with pleading eyes, lips parted, brows upturned, black hair like a halo around him.

Loki mouths the word ‘please’ and Thor squeezes.

All at once, it’s like a coil in Loki winds up tighter—Loki’s hands fly to Thor’s forearm, but not to push away, but pressing closer. His nails dig into Thor’s skin and a small sound escapes him.

Thor releases his grip and Loki lets out a gasp. “Oh—” he starts, but Thor’s pressing again and Loki jerks, his hips pumping up. A leg kicks out, and Thor lets go.

“Are you—?”

“Yes,  _green_ , Thor pl—”

Thor’s fingers almost don’t seem to be under his control anymore. Loki is… is…  _so lovely_. His face, red, his body, jerking under him, his cock, hard again…

Release, and Loki inhales.

Press, and Loki’s eyes swim with tears, hazy.

A permanent neck tattoo isn’t an option, but maybe, Thor thinks, his cock dribbling precum all over Loki’s already stained and marked body, choking they could do more of.

 

* * *

 


	10. dirt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings.

* * *

 

‘This town’, Frigga thinks, bleary, as she mops the sweat from her brow, 'has the most disorganized weather in the world.’

Just yesterday, the weather was pleasant, but bright blue skies and plump little clouds, and a healthy breeze that cooled her heated body. Now the thermostat creeps up and up until it tops out; it is just too hot for it to read. The radio buzzes with staticy warnings about heat strokes, hydration, and staying indoors.

Frigga heeded that religiously. She was born in Norway—this heat has to be unnatural. Like the whole planet has a fever. The air conditioning unit putters out, weak, but it’s too old to handle the workload and needs to be replaced. Odin is out at the hardware store looking for a replacement and she wishes now she had joined—at least the car and store would be cool.

But her little twin boys, Thor and Loki, pay no mind to the dire talk on the airwaves, nor do they even seem to notice the heat shimmering around them. They run around outside, naked but for their matching Superman swim trunks. The sprinkler waves merrily, a dance of waterdrops and rainbows for her boys to play in. The hard packed dirt turns to slushy mud, and Loki evidently finds great pleasure in caking the slurry into his brother’s hair—though Thor pays him back, streaking him with brown like childish warpaint that drips away in the glittering shower.

Frigga watches from the window. She should be outside, but… well, clearly the boys had gotten their heat tolerance from their father. Her people just weren’t made for this nonsense.

Outside, Thor shrieks and tackles Loki, and Frigga smiles, welcoming the warmth in her heart. At least they’re having fun, even if she has no clue how they can stand it.

 

* * *

 


	11. empty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings.

* * *

 

Latin cities keep late nights.

It’s supposed to be winter here, buried in the heart of Buenos Aires, but no one has told the weather that—through the open window of Loki’s hostel room, a muggy, heated breeze sweeps in. Crickets sing their lonely songs, but they can barely be heard over the bustle of the city.

Bracing himself on the window sill, Loki breathes in and listens.

The burr of Spanish whirs along the neat gridline streets, and Loki can measure his heartbeat by the rise and fall of laughter. A low rumble of music plays from somewhere, something low and fast, perfect for dancing to, or kissing to, or fucking to. Even from here, six floors up, Loki can hear the tinkle of dinnerware and glasses; he can smell the rich, meaty scents of their food.

His belly rolls, but not with hunger. He aches to be touched in a way he cannot describe—there’s a longing, deep and boundless, for someone to share his bed and occupy the hollow place in his heart, if only for a single night. A thought forms, carried by the smoky thread of nightlife below; he could go out, find someone as lonely as he is. He doesn’t speak Spanish, not overly much, but there are things that transcend language—the flicker of lashes, a slow, glittering smile, the glance towards a quiet area and the quiet promise of a good time in dark eyes.

Loki holds onto that brief, flickering fantasy for a moment before letting a rush of laughter from below pull it from him. On the other side of the world, tucked away in the north, Thor dreams through the summer heat. They’ll work their way back together eventually and maybe then Loki will be allowed to remember the texture of sliding skin and the scent of salty, gasping sweat, but for now, Loki is left to his empty bed and empty heart.

 

* * *

 


	12. sticky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings.

* * *

 

Vacation.

God knows they’ve need it—there’s a mania humming in the bloated city air, a tensing of shoulders and thinning of lips when calendars divulge that summer is nearly half over. Convincing their parents to let them come to the lakehouse by themselves took a week and thousands of promises of good behaviour.

No mom, no parties. Yes dad, we’ll make sure not to blow the grill up.

But it’s worth it.

Loki stretches his bare feet out on the dashboard, groaning with satisfaction. Thor finished his groaning a few minutes ago, when Loki’s hot, sticky hand worked its way back out of his damp shorts.

Two weeks at the lakehouse. Two weeks of sleeping naked in the hot summer, two weeks of the buzz of insects instead of the wail of car horns, two weeks of the cool lake water soothing their tempers and sore cocks.

Idly, Loki cleans his hand with swipes of his pink tongue—Thor takes his eyes off the road for a second to watch as Loki withdraws his own hard cock and pumps it. “Road,” Loki chides, sing-song.

Two weeks of fucking his brother without worry of being walked in on.

“Asshole,” Thor complains, but keeps his focus on the road, even as he listens to the slick, heavy sound of Loki’s masturbating and his breathy sigh as he cums. Unconcerned, Loki wipes his spend on his shirt.

“What?” he huffs when Thor makes a grossed out noise. “Like my clothes aren’t coming off the second we get there.”

Thor perks up. “Oh?”

“Yessss,” Loki hisses out. “First my shirt…”

Another part of Thor starts to perk up again, too. He licks his lips, thinking about his brother’s rosy little nipples. Loki loves it when Thor mouths at them—

“Pants next.”

Right down over those legs, yes, perfect—

“No boxers, so I’ll be completely ready by then.”

No boxers, Loki says, like Thor needs to be told—like he wasn’t mesmerized by the unhindered swing of Loki’s junk through his thin basketball shorts. “Ready,” Thor repeats, gruff. His grip is tight on the steering wheel.

“Ready,” Loki agrees. “Ready… to jump in the fucking lake, you idiot, it’s stupid hot.” He flops around, messing with the AC vents to get a more direct stream onto his flushed, sweaty skin.

Far from deterred, Thor mutters, “I can work with the lake…”

“What? Thor, no, you’re  _not_  fucking me in the lake.”

“Of course not.”

“Good.”

“Because you’re going to fuck  _me_ in the lake.”

Two weeks.

Not long enough, but Thor wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

 

* * *

 


	13. summer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings.

* * *

 

“What do you love about me?”

Thor looks down at his brother, laying with his sleek, black head in his lap. His book is resting, open, on his chest, and Loki’s got a determined tilt to his lips that Thor doesn’t like—that’s the same look of concentration he has right before he starts slinging magic around.

“Why?” Thor says, hesitant.

“Because I want to know.”

“Ahh…” Thor isn’t sure how to respond. He just… loves Loki. Asking him to list all the reasons why he loves his brother would be like asking him to name every star in the sky. “You’re a good brother?” Sometimes. When he wasn’t practicing a new spell on his favorite test dummy: one Thor Odinson.

“ _Thor._ ” There’s a dangerous spark in Loki’s eye now, and Thor has a sneaking suspicion that if he doesn’t give a satisfactory answer, his arse will be lit on fire. Or he’ll be turned into a goat again. Or Loki will curse his hair off. Why, why, why did mother have to teach Loki magic?

“I love your eyes,” Thor blurts. Norns, how is he supposed to know what to say? He can barely screw up the courage to talk to that new warrior girl, Sif.

Loki gives a little hum. He picks at a red spot on his chin before reaching up to poke a matching spot on Thor’s cheek. “What about my eyes?”

What on this flat realm does Loki want from him? “They’re like summer.”

“Summer?” There’s a wistfulness to Loki’s voice now, but Thor wishes he’d stop tugging at the new whiskers on his chin—he happens to be very proud of those. “Why?”

“They’re green.” Annoyed, he bats Loki’s hand away.

“Norns,” Loki spits. He snatches his book off his chest and rises from Thor’s lap. The blood rushes back to his thigh, but his skin feels cold without Loki.

“What?” Thor wails as Loki stalks off. “What’d I say?”

 

* * *

 


	14. tears

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings.

* * *

 

The beach is… dismal. There are more rocks than sand and Thor grimaces at the sickly grey sea that churns mulishly.

These poor fucking Brits, Christ.

Or maybe he’s just too used to the golden strands of Australia’s beaches that kiss water as blue as gems.

He kicks a rock, frustrated and homesick. He thought he was off on some great adventure, but this British city, it seemed, as very much like any other…

A gasping scream tears Thor from his brooding. His head shoots up—in front of him a ways off, someone is laying half submerged in the water. They’re struggling, and face down, and Thor drops his knapsack to sprint over.

Only to stop dead in his tracks a few meters away.

That… is not human.

The thing wails again, pawing at the rocky shore with a webbed, faintly green hand. Its black fingernails dig into the stone, but it seems unable to pull its further. There’s a net wrapped around its human-ish torso, cutting into the thick looking flesh.

Stunned, Thor traces his eyes down the creature’s body. A tail splashes, weak, in the water.

“Oh, God,” Thor says, feeling like he’s about to pass out.

At the sound of his voice, the thing lifts its head and turns to look at him. It has black, tangled hair, and a… a crown, almost, of pearls. Its eyes are green, with round, too-wide pupils. It opens its mouth to reveal a truly horrifying set of spiky, jagged teeth.

Thor takes a step closer and raises his hands defensively when it hisses at him. “I just want to help.”

The slits on its neck flare.

Unsure of the level of the creature… the mermaid’s… understanding, Thor tries to mime removing something tying his left arm to his torso. It watches with narrow, mistrustful eyes, but doesn’t protest again when Thor takes another step.

Oh Jesus. Okay.

Hands shaking and keenly aware of those teeth, Thor crouches down by the thing. It rumbles, trailing off into a high keen. Its… its in pain, Thor realizes. Now that he’s close, he can see that the creature must’ve been trying to fight off the net for hours—its skin is torn open, and the net’s squeezing its torso tight enough to restrict breathing in a human. Mermaids, too, if the strangled sounds and hard pumping gills were anything to go by.

Thor takes the switchknife from his pocket and holds it out for the creature to see. It looks up at Thor’s face in—in fear. It knows what position its in. It knows he could kill it as easily as he could help it. It lowers its head and looks away.

“I won’t hurt you,” Thor says, even though he doesn’t think the thing can understand him. It garbles something back in response.

Carefully, Thor cuts away the net, flinching when he makes contact with its skin. Its… blubbery and slick, like a dolphin’s. Still, he works doggedly to tear away the net until, with one good tug, he frees its arm.

What now? Its injured, but who in the fuck would he call about it? Who has jurisdiction over mermaids?

It answers its question by raising itself up and crawling backwards into the sea, groaning as the cold water washes over its probably dried out skin. But it pauses. Stares at him.

Then it takes off the weave of pearls resting on his forehead. “Looookey,” it says.

Thor just stands there.

“Lokey!” it says, more insistent.

Hesitant, Thor reaches out and takes the pearl crown.

It snuffs at him, disdainful, before turning and diving into the waves.

Maybe… maybe Britain did have a bit of adventure after all.

 

* * *

 


	15. soft

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mature. age difference. no major warnings.

* * *

 

Thor had never thought that he would settle down. He was a jet-setting businessman, going where he damn well pleased or was needed to expand his company’s market. He lived a life of freedom and luxury, built on the back of honest work.

And yet.

As he creeps into his own condo, he considers taking an early retirement. There’s soft snoring coming from the bedroom—the door is cracked just enough for Thor to see a luminous figure tossed in white sheets. His pale skin glows in the gentle city lights from the window, limbs akimbo, back slowly rising and falling as he breathes the deepness of sleep.

“Loki…” Thor whispers, but he doesn’t stir. Quietly, Thor undresses. He’s not tired, no particularly—he’s just returned from a trip to Japan with four suitcases stuffed full of souvenirs for Loki and his circadian rhythm is beyond messed up. Another thing for Loki to scold him about, like he does when Thor eats pork fat or has too much take-out.

Another reason, maybe, to take a break.

Still, Thor slips into bed next to Loki. He wants to feel Loki’s presence, smell his cologne again, hold him tightly and not let go.

He knows how this looks. A rich old man in his late forties, a young kid barely to his early twenties. How sordid…

Loki turns to him, moaning as he stretches. “Thor?” he murmurs, eyes still closed. “You’re back…” Humming blearily, Loki scootches over to tuck himself in Thor’s arms; he lazily throws a thigh over Thor’s hip. Their cocks press, the tender rubbing of soft flesh, but Thor isn’t in a mood to pursue anything farther.

He presses his lips to Loki’s forehead and kisses over, and over, and over, almost wanting to cry for how much he loves Loki. Loki’s breathing settles back into a steady pattern.

Yes, Thor thinks. A retirement. He wants to spend every moment he can with Loki, before Loki gets bored of putting up with an old man and leaves.

 

* * *

 


	16. phone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings.

* * *

 

“He hasn’t called!” Amora wails. She’s normally so put together and in control that Loki is left feeling distinctly uncomfortable. Well, it’s that or the fact that  _he_  might have something to do with it… No, no on second thought, it’s just that she’s crying. Loki doesn’t regret a thing. “Why hasn’t Thor called? It’s been three days!”

Loki pats her back. “It’s okay,” he soothes. “I’m sure he’s just busy. Or maybe his phone busted! Did you try messaging him on Facebook?” In his pocket, Loki’s phone chimes a simple tune.

“Yes,” Amora says, miserable. “Three times.”

“Maybe go for another,” Loki says, pulling out his phone. A smile creeps onto his face— _does your ass still hurt, babe? do you feel me every time you move?_ —“Just my friend,” he lies calmly when Amora gives him a pointed look.

“I thought the date went well,” she sniffs. “There was wine! Music! A candle! It was a perfect first date!”

Except, maybe, for the part where Thor took one look at Loki, who had been their gracious server at the restaurant at Amora’s insistence, and fucked him senseless in the bathroom stall.

That was a pretty good ‘first date’ in Loki’s books.

Amora gives her nose an almighty honk. “ _Fuck_  that guy. He doesn’t know what he’s missing! Fuck. Him.”

 _I already did,_  Loki drawls in his head. He gives her shoulder a sympathetic rub. “What a dick.” His phone chirps again.

_come on baby, tell me how much it hurts. ask nice and i’ll kiss it all better_

“Lokiiiiii!”

“Sorry, sorry.” Loki pulls up his best 'my-heart-aches-for-you’ face. “I’m going to go to the bathroom—”— _to take a picture of my dick and send it to the guy you’ve been crushing on for a year—_ “—but I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Okay,” Amora says, back to miserable.

Oops.

_Sorry not sorry._

 

* * *

 


	17. salad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings.

* * *

 

“I can’t even believe–” Loki squints at his laptop screen, his lips pulled back in disgust. “What the hell does this even mean? Is this English? No… no, surely not.”

Thor just rolls his eyes. Loki’s brother, Helblindi, is a wonderful, creative, inventive man—but he cannot write a paper to save his life. And so Loki ever-so-helpfully steps in, with a flourish of his mouse and a curse on his tongue at the desecration upon the very foundation of the clusterfuck that is the English language unfolds before his eyes.

Idly, Thor pokes at his salad, preoccupying himself with his phone as Loki mutters under his breath. He flicks through Twitter, distracted.

“Blegh,” Loki grumbles as he takes a bite of his own salad. “Onion-y…”

“Hm.”

“Though, of course,” Loki says, “my tongue is still fucked up from where I burnt it on your stupidly hot tea.”

Thor scoffs, still not taking his eyes off social media where someone is having an entire melt-down over McDonald’s messing up their drive-through order. “I _like_  my tea hot, okay?” Not defensively, of course–just because Loki likes his tea lukewarm… He raises his fork to his mouth, then blows on it. Thor freezes. “Why did I do that?” he sputters.

“Did you just blow on your salad?” Loki says with false outrage. “In front of  _my_ salad?!”

Thor’s fork clatters into his bowl. “Loki—I tossed your salad while you  _made the salad._ ”

The two stare at each other before erupting into full-on dolphin laughs, then reach over and high-five across the table.

 

* * *

 


	18. freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings. trans!loki. incorrect binding.

* * *

 

Loki clamored into the train carriage, shivering from both the assault of rain outside the station and the adrenaline pumping through his veins. His clothes were ratty, though he had done his best to painstakingly stitch together any noticeable holes—despite his mother’s insistence that he learn to sew as a child (“It’s what’s  _excepted_  of you, sunflower.”), the needle felt foreign in his hands, clumsy. He smoothed down the front of his waistcoat, trying to flatten out the worst of the roadmap of wrinkles that wound across the thin, pilled cotton. His breasts, pushed and smushed and shaped under a tight layer of wrapping pained him fiercely, and Loki resisted the urge to rub the faint bump.

Thor ducked in as Loki fussed with a torn leather strap on the suitcase. His eyes darted around the mercifully empty carriage, but his lips stayed pressed closed so tightly they disappeared into the unfashionable whiskers accumulating on his face. There would be no stolen kisses, Loki could tell. Not that he even wanted to consider taking that risk. Not now, not when they were so close to freedom.

“How much farther, you think?” Thor’s voice was a low rumble, hoarse and tired from traveling nearly two days to reach the train station, but Loki’s shoulders sagged at the sound of him; all his breath left his aching chest at once.

“Four more hours by train, then we can catch a ride to… our new home.”

In a rare public display, Thor gave Loki’s hand a quick squeeze before withdrawing as though invisible eyes were watching them, even now.

But soon, they would strip off all their armor and be as they should be.

Their new home, a tiny farmhouse situation out in the middle of Nowhere, Kansas, was miles away from even the closest town. There would be no neighbors snooping in, no noses poking into their business, nothing to explain except two brothers trying to make a living.

And loving each other. A relationship cursed three ways that could see them both hanged.

Which was why Loki stole the money from their father to finance their new life and Thor, the smart man he was, did not question when Loki shook him awake in the middle of the night and breathed, “Pack. We need to be gone within the hour.”

“Four hours,” Thor said, glancing out of the window.

“To freedom.” Loki pressed his foot into Thor’s in their small and secret way and smiled as his brother’s eyes softened.

“To freedom,” he repeated, nudging Loki back.

 

* * *

 


	19. storm clouds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no major warnings.

* * *

 

“I intended for you to marry.”

Thor says nothing—he watches the children play with autumn’s fallen leaves. They gather huge armfuls to dump in a massive pile, then ruin their leaf tower by jumping into it. Over and over, taking turns in the building and destroying.

The man wraps his brown woolen coat tighter around his body. His one good eye is turned towards the park as well, but his gaze lingers inwards. “Then you called him ‘brother’. And that was that, I suppose. Your mother kept a notebook of wedding plans in her boudoir—every year we vowed that this would be the year we confessed the truth, but ah, you boys were happy in ignorance.”

“Why are you here?”

Odin looks both vastly different and exactly the same; his eyepatch is flesh-colored and his clothes old fashioned by human tastes. Like Loki, he is a chameleon. Or perhaps, like Odin, Loki is a chameleon. “My old bones ache with wanderlust. There are worse fates than passing without grandeur.”

Thor thinks of Loki, slack in his arms.

“And Asgard holds nothing for me now.”

“Same as I, then,” Thor admits.

Father squeezes son’s shoulder and, like all sons, Thor startles at the weak gesture. Gone is the firmness of grip; the tight, comforting hold. “But someone yet awaits for you in Asgard. Someone you once refused to call betrothed and named  _brother_  instead.” As Thor buries his face in his hands, Odin continues with a note of painful finality, “Words cut Loki deeper than actions.”

When Thor looks back up, the children still play and Odin in gone. The taste of funeral ash sits heavy on his tongue and grief churns in his belly. Rage is present somewhere, because there is always rage in a storm god, but he directs to towards himself.

Of course a capricious spirit would do anything to escape a prison cage.

The children all grumble in dismay as rolling grey clouds gather.

 

* * *

 


End file.
